Beneath the Bones (24 page)

A hand clamped down on his shoulder with an iron grip, ending his run for freedom before he’d even made it halfway across the yard. As Tyrone was spun around to face his attacker, he opened his mouth to call out for help, though he knew the attempt came far too late. But before he could make a sound, his voice was quite literally cut off as razor-sharp steel slashed across his throat. Blood gushed from the wound and bubbled past his lips in a thick, wet cough. He knew he was dying, and while like anyone, he had a number of regrets, his biggest was that when he was gone, there would be no one in the county left to bear witness.

But he could do so one last time. With what remained of his fading willpower, he focused on the dark form standing before him. He knew everyone in the county, and he was certain he’d recognize his killer the instant he got a good look at his features. But even with the blue-white illumination of the streetlights to help him, Tyrone’s vision was blurred and gray around the edges. The gray turned black as it spread, until Tyrone could no longer see a thing. His legs gave out beneath him, and he fell to the ground, slumping over onto his side.

Lying there, his blood soaking into the soil, a faint scent of gasoline in his nostrils, Tyrone Gantz died without seeing the face of his killer.

• • •

Joanne’s eyes snapped open, and she understood why when she heard the insistent warble of her cell phone. Her sleep — what little of it she’d gotten — had been blessedly dream-free, and for that reason alone she wanted to reach out, turn her phone off, roll over, and escape into soothing nothingness once more. But she picked up the phone and answered it. The man on the other end was Alec Bernstein, one of the deputies on night shift.

“Just got a call from dispatch, Sheriff. The Caffeine Café’s on fire.”

Joanne had been expecting to hear news of another murder, and it took several seconds for her to process what Alec had told her.

“Are firefighters on their way?”

“Sure thing, Sheriff. They’re the ones who called dispatch.”

She could hear the whoop of his siren in the background, and she knew the deputy was already on his way. She put her cell on speaker, placed it on the nightstand, and continued talking as she jumped out of bed and started to get dressed. “I figure it’s too much of a coincidence that there should be a fire the night after the break-in and the murder. Maybe the killer set the fire, in which case maybe he’ll stick around to watch the place burn. You know how firebugs are. Once you get there, take a good look around. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll catch the son of a bitch.”

“You got it, Sheriff. Anderson radioed me a minute ago. He’s en route as well.”

Joanne was in the process of buttoning her uniform shirt and she stopped.

“Danny’s left the Coulter residence?”

Her displeasure must’ve come through in her tone, for Alec said, “Something wrong, Sheriff?”

The deputies on the night shift didn’t normally call to clear their every move with her, which was how it should be. The action was at the Café right now, and there was a possibility they might have a chance to catch Ray Porter’s murderer there. Still, she didn’t like the idea of leaving Debbie unguarded. The thought gave her an all-too-familiar cold sick feeling in her stomach and a tingling at the base of her skull.

She finished doing up her buttons. “You two check out the situation at the Café. I’ll go see how Debbie Coulter’s doing. Call me if you find anything.”

Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed her cell and disconnected. She stuck the phone in its belt pouch, grabbed her gun holster, and ran out of the bedroom without bothering to put it on. She couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

She had a Feeling.

• • •

Debbie Coulter lay awake on the living room couch, TV and lights off, not thinking, not feeling, just being numb. She’d gotten precious little sleep the night before, and it looked like tonight was going to be a repeat. She wasn’t too worried about her safety. Sheriff Talon had arranged for one of her deputies to watch over her tonight, and it was comforting to know that she wasn’t alone.

When she heard the cruiser’s engine start, she sat up. She rose from the couch and started toward the picture window when the high-pitched wail of a siren cut through the night, and flashing red lights were visible through the divide between the curtains. She ran the rest of way, grabbed hold of the cord, and opened the curtains just in time to see her guardian roar off down the street.

Though she knew there had to be a good reason for the deputy’s departure, she couldn’t help feeling abandoned. Maybe he’d return once the emergency was over. She hoped so. She didn’t think she’d be able to make it through the night without someone —

Her thoughts trailed away as she saw movement across the street on the Duvalls’ lawn. She didn’t know them well. The couple kept their distance from her and wouldn’t let their kids come anywhere near the mother of the infamous Carl the Cutter. But she knew them well enough to realize that the trenchcoated man running across the lawn was not Mr. Duvall, nor was the figure in the hooded sweatshirt pursuing him. She watched in horrified fascination as the first man fled toward the street, trenchcoat flaring open behind him like a pair of wing, the hooded man close behind, moving with the strength and grace of a predatory cat. The hooded man easily caught up with his prey, grabbed him by the shoulder —

Was that Tyrone Gantz? What the hell was he doing here, so far from downtown?

— and spun him around. The hooded man raised his right hand and light glinted off the metal object in his grip. The hand swept across Tyrone’s throat — she was certain now that it was Tyrone now — and a fountain of dark fluid that could only be blood gushed forth.

“God, no … please …” she said softly, not even aware she’d spoken.

Tyrone took a couple staggersteps to the left, then collapsed to the lawn. The hooded man regarded her for a moment before kneeling and rolling Tyrone onto his back. He pulled up Tyrone’s shirt to expose his abdomen and began cutting.

A strange sense of unreality washed over Debbie then, and without consciously willing it, she turned away from the window and started walking toward the front door. Her fingers felt nothing as she turned the deadbolt and unlatched the chain. She watched her hand grip the knob, turn it, and push the door open. Cool night air washed over her. Although she wore only a nightgown she didn’t shiver, and though her bare feet touched the porch’s concrete, the sensation didn’t register. She crossed the porch, stepped onto wet grass, and continued walking toward the street.

The hooded figure was still working on Tyrone, but he looked up as she reached the sidewalk and stepped into the rain-slick surface of Marwyck Lane. Though she tried to see the face within the hood, only darkness was visible, and she wondered if maybe Tyrone’s killer didn’t
have
a face, if instead of bone and flesh the hood was filled with solid shadow.

“Carl?” She spoke her son’s name softly, but in the night’s silence it sounded loud as a gunshot.

The hooded figure stood and began walking toward her, the instrument he’d used to cut Tyrone still held tight in his right hand. Debbie squinted as she tried to focus on the weapon, but it was difficult to make out details from this distance and in this light. Her Carl had used a hunting knife on his victims, but whatever the hooded figure held was smaller than that. For that matter, she’d never known her son to wear a hooded sweatshirt either. He’d been gone a long time, though, and it was only natural that he’d changed somewhat. She had too. She was older now, heavier, and she feared Carl wouldn’t recognize her.

“Carl, honey. It’s me. It’s your mother.”

She stepped to the center of the street, stopped and waited for her boy to join her. The hooded figure continued walking toward Debbie with a determined stride, and she wondered what he would do when he reached her. Would he embrace her? Cut her throat? Either would be all right with her, just as long as they could be together one last time.

As Carl stepped off the curb, Debbie smiled and raised her arms, beckoning her son to come to her. Everything would be okay now that her baby had returned.

She saw bright lights out of the corner of her eye, heard the sound of a car approaching at high speed. She turned and saw a sheriff’s cruiser coming down the street toward them, roof lights flashing an angry red. But instead of slowing as the vehicle approached, it angled toward Carl and accelerated.

“No!” Debbie shouted. “You can’t take my boy from me! Not again!” She ran between the oncoming cruiser and her son, determined to do whatever it took to protect him. She’d failed Carl when he was alive, hadn’t seen the signs of madness and evil growing within him, hadn’t prevented them from taking him over. She wouldn’t fail him again.

“Run, honey!” Debbie shouted. She didn’t turn to see if her boy heeded her words. Standing awash in the headlights’ glare, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the impact to come.

• • •

“Shit!”

Joanne yanked the steering wheel hard to the left and slammed on the brakes. Her cruiser skidded on the wet asphalt, jumped the curb, and plowed into the yard of the house across the street from Debbie’s place. She held on as the ass-end of the vehicle spun around, rear tires churning up a spray of grass and soil, before finally coming to stop with the grill facing the street. She hadn’t felt an impact, but she was relieved to see Debbie standing in the middle of the street, unharmed. She was even more relieved to see the man in the hooded sweatshirt running away from Debbie. As Joanne had approached, she’d seen the body lying in the yard, along with the glint of her headlights reflecting off the blade held in the hooded man’s hand. You didn’t have to be a trained law-enforcement professional to do the math on this one. She’d intended to ram the son of a bitch with her cruiser to save Debbie’s life, but she hadn’t counted on the woman turning psycho on her at the last instant and throwing herself into the cruiser’s path.

Joanne jumped out of her vehicle and drew her 9 mm. “Are you all right?” she shouted to Debbie. But the woman didn’t look at her. Instead she faced her fleeing attacker, hands cupped to her mouth, and yelled, “Run, Carl! Don’t let them take you again, baby!”

A chill rippled down Joanne’s spine upon hearing Debbie’s words, but she dismissed it. The man in the hooded sweatshirt was more slender than Carl Coulter. She realized then that for an instant she had actually considered the possibility that the attacker might be Debbie’s dead son.
Maybe Debbie isn’t the only one going psycho around here
, she thought.

“Get back in your house and lock the door until I get back!” Joanne had no idea whether Debbie was lucid enough to obey her order, but she appeared to be uninjured, which was a hell of a lot more than could be said for the person lying in the yard. Joanne unclipped the flashlight from her belt as she ran over, but even before she turned the beam on, she knew the man was beyond anyone’s help. His eyes were wide and staring, his throat had been slashed, and a triangle bisected by a jagged lightning bolt had been carved into his stomach. She supposed she shouldn’t have been, but she was surprised to see the dead man was Tyrone Gantz. Had he been killed because he’d witnessed the break-in at the Caffeine Café last night, or had he simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Either way, she decided, the poor man was just as dead.

Joanne didn’t have to consider her next move. Debbie wasn’t hurt, Tyrone was very dead, and his murderer — who definitely was not and
could
not be Carl Coulter — was hauling ass out of here. Two people had been killed in her county in the last twenty-four hours, and Joanne was determined that there wouldn’t be a third. She took off running after the hooded man.

In the time it had taken her to check on Debbie and Tyrone, the killer had disappeared between two houses, and Joanne headed in the same direction. As she followed, she was well aware that the killer might be lying in wait for her, so she swept her flashlight’s beam back and forth as she ran. The light would give away her position, but it would make it damned difficult for the killer to jump out of the dark and ambush her. Of course, if he had a gun in addition to his knife …

No. If he’d had a gun he’d have used it on her when she first arrived on the scene. A man like him didn’t shy away from bloodshed, but he was the type who preferred to do his killing up close and personal. Shooting her wouldn’t have been any fun for him.

Joanne passed between the houses and saw that neither had privacy fences enclosing their backyards. She assumed the killer had scoped out the location earlier and chosen this as his escape route for that very reason. Most likely he had a vehicle parked somewhere close by, probably on the next street over, and that’s where he was headed right now. She had to catch up to him fast or he’d get into his car and vanish into the night. There’d be no way she could get back to her vehicle in time to give chase, and her other deputies were at the Caffeine Café, checking out a fire she was now sure had been set to draw away the man guarding Debbie. They couldn’t help. It was all up to her.

Breathing hard, sweat cold on her face in the autumn air, she stopped near a concrete birdbath in one of the yards and panned her flashlight beam around, listening for the thump-thump-thump of feet pounding on the ground. But she saw nothing, and the only sound she heard was the throbbing of her own pulse in her ears. No engine noise, though, so she knew the killer hadn’t reached his vehicle yet.

She was debating whether to continue searching the yard or run over to the next street and check there when she finally heard the tell-tale rustle of someone moving through the grass — coming from behind her. She started to spin around but it was too late. She felt something hard collide with the back of her skull, saw a bright white flash behind her eyes, then darkness rushed in to swallow her. Her last coherent thought was that it was too bad she’d never get to hear Dale chide her for screwing up so badly.

• • •